Kellen's Beaded Slipper
by Queen Eleni
Summary: Just another Cinderella story


Kellen's Beaded Slipper

A Tale of the North

Long ago, in the days when a king reigned in Fost, there lived in the Norhamlet a man of good standing and much wealth. His name was Gardal Minder gar Predal, and he had but one child, a daughter, called Kellen after her mother. Now Kellen was but five years old when her mother died, and Gardal married again two years after. But his second wife was quite different from the first. Maryeane Dercomlen ren Baled was the widow of a merchant of Merna, and she was very proud and vain, though clever and beautiful. It was said that either she or her late husband must have had Chadman blood in them, for Maryeane's two daughters had hair as black as the night, and both were beauteous in an outlandish kind of way. The elder was named Anaden, the younger called Melnde.

When Kellen came of age, Gardal Minder grew ill and died. And her stepmother, who had ever been jealous of Gardal's affection for his daughter, gave the girl frowns in return for her sweet smiles. Kellen was forced to work as a servant, and took over all the household jobs so that Maryeane could fire the other servants, and thus horde for money for fine dresses and jewels. Anaden and Melnde took Kellen's finery for themselves, and Kellen went clothed all the time in one old, worn gown that was too large for her. But she hid her mother's wedding gown, and not all of her sisters' scolding could induce her to reveal its whereabouts.

Now several years passed, and Kellen was ever more treated like a slave. The smile on her face grew sadder, but did not disappear; her hands grew red and rough, but their touch was still gentle, and her singing could still be heard each day. Eventually Anaden and Melnde ceased to remember who she really was, and they took to calling her Cinders, for she slept by the remnants of the attic fire, and woke every morning with her face darkened by the dying embers. But Maryeane did not forget, and was always finding ways to make Kellen's lot harder. She beat the girl whenever the smallest speck of dust was found upon the furniture. Kellen therefore avoided the presence of people, and the neighbors only could vaguely recall the fact that Gardal Minder had a daughter. Yet small birds would fly and sing about the girl as she labored in the garden, and mice would dance about her feet when she swept the kitchen floor. To the old brown pony she chattered of all her hopes and dreams.

And it came to pass that the King of Fost planned a grand feast in honor of his eldest son. Not only did he invite all the nobles of Fost, but he also invited the chief families of the Norhamlet and the Gernhamlet, because of the ancient alliance of Fost with the northern hamlets of Darmel. And the household of Gardal Minder was invited, which greatly pleased Maryeane and her daughters. For the sisters each thought that they might perhaps catch the eye of Prince Gwylan, heir to the throne of Fost. It was a journey of two days by carriage to Fosteln, and so the ladies packed their finest dresses and set off three days before the feast in the family's carriage, driven by old Dimgar, the only servant besides Kellen. Kellen had asked if she might attend the feast, but the proud Maryeane only scoffed, and told her that such rabble were not welcome at the royal court.

Kellen had a great desire to go to the feast, for she had never been past the borders of the Norhamlet. When he was alive, her father had told her stories of distant lands, of kings and princes, and of the great city of the North. And Kellen would read a few battered books of tales by the dying fire before she slept each night. The night after her stepfamily left, she felt less cheerful than usual. After doing the mending, she walked outside to speak to the night moths.

Believing that she was alone, Kellen danced on the grass in her bare feet and sang a simple, old tune. She was startled to hear a rustle in the trees beside her, and turned and squinted. After a moment, a tall figure emerged. It was a woman, yet no human. She was too bright, too magnificent to be of mankind. Though she had never seen one, Kellen instantly thought that this might be a Talithe, one of the Everlasting.

The Talithe smiled, held out her hand to stroke Kellen's dirty cheek, and said, "Greetings, Kellen Minder ren Gardal. A night of peace be yours."

"Greetings, fair lady," stammered Kellen, "Peace be yours as well. But who are- I mean, why- "

"I have come to help you, Kellen," said the Talithe gently, her violet eyes piercing into Kellen's own hazel ones. "Your humility has not gone unseen, nor has the cruelty of your stepmother and her proud daughters escaped notice. But it is not our task to punish the wrong, but to help those in need. Tonight you shall set out for the great feast." She saw Kellen's astonishment. "Well, child, why do you stand there? There is work to be done."

"I beg pardon, lady," said Kellen, "but how could I- how should I get there? And well, look at me!" She ran her fingers through her matted, dirty hair, glanced down at her stained, mud-spattered skirt, felt the dirt clinging to her skin. She had not been allowed the luxury of a bath in many a day.

"These are things easily taken care of," said the Talithe. "We shall go to the stables and prepare your mount. Then we shall prepare you."

"There's only old Brownie," said Kellen. "He is old, and not accustomed to long journeys."

"We shall see."

They entered the stable. Brownie was in the smallest stall, munching on a mouthful of hay. He was indeed an old horse, and not strong. His coat was shaggy, his muzzle grey, and his tail thin. The Talithe entered the stall and touched his forehead. He instantly looked up and stared at her. The Talithe whispered strange words into the pony's ears. And to Kellen's amazement, he clearly replied, "Yes, my lady, I shall be most pleased to take my mistress to Fosteln."

Kellen gasped. "He talked! Brownie talked!"

"Yes, Kellen, he did. Do not you know that all animals can speak when in the presence of the Talethin? But his real name is not Brownie; it is Corcamelyn, which means 'small but sure.'"

The pony looked at her and said, "Yes, mistress, I do prefer Corcamelyn. It is so much more a noble name for a horse." He ended this with a whinny. Kellen gulped and nodded. The pony said, "But lady, I cannot go to Fosteln looking like this. I'm sure all the other horses will be so very grand."

"There is no cause for worry, Corcamelyn. Kellen, you must bathe and groom him until his coat shines like a new coin."

Kellen could not remember when the old pony's coat had ever shined like a new coin, but she obediently fetched water and soap and a rag. It took her half an hour to bathe and brush the pony, and she trimmed his tail and mane and polished his hooves. The Talithe stood by all this time and watched. When she was done, Kellen was amazed at the transformation of the pony. He looked sleek and young, and Kellen knew her efforts were not the reason for it.

"Now for you, child," said the Talithe, "Prepare a bath for yourself, and we shall see if a pretty face lies underneath all that dirt."

Kellen giggled and went to fetch more water. It took her a good deal of time to fill the huge caldron, heat it, and then pour it into the tub. She thought as she poured that it was very odd to be bathing at night. But the bath was unlike anything she could remember, and the Talithe put a pouch of herbs into the water that smelled heavenly. Kellen scrubbed herself vigorously until every speck of dirt had been removed. She then dried herself and brushed her hair. The Talithe helped her with all the tangles and poured some sweet-scented oil onto the deep ruddy curls.

"You will need traveling clothes for now," said the Talithe, "But fetch your mother's wedding gown and pack it carefully. The slippers too."

Kellen dressed in one of Anaden's simple gowns. It had been hers once, so she had no scruples in reclaiming it. She could not very well change back into her own filthy dress. She put on boots and a heavy cloak, and grabbed a sack in which to put the wedding gown. Then she headed back to the stable, followed by the Talithe. There she removed a panel from the tack room wall and pulled out a carefully wrapped gown and a pair of beautifully beaded slippers. The gown was placed in one sack, and the slippers, along with a knife, and some provisions, were placed in another. Kellen saddled Corcamelyn, but the Talithe stopped her from putting on his bridle.

"He will go without leading," said the lady, "There is no need for a bridle." So Kellen tied the sacks to the saddle. The Talithe helped her mount.

"Be gone with you," said the Talithe, "and be careful. Corcamelyn, you shall have the gift of speech for the duration of your journey there and back again. Kellen, you ought to reach Fosteln on the second evening after this, and you may attend the feast the next day. May the light of Glorend go with you."

They rode through the night, taking the Fost Road to the north, and Kellen thought it wonderful that she could hold converse with her pony. Corcamelyn had an opinion on everything, and he found Kellen a good listener. He told her what the best kind of hay was, and what he thought of the mice in the stable, and his low opinion of starlings. Kellen thought that she had never so enjoyed herself, and only wished that her father were there to enjoy the journey with her. When dawn broke, Kellen was so tired that she and the pony agreed to stop and make camp.

Princes in tales ought to be young and handsome, but Prince Gwylan of Fost did not perfectly fit this description. He was not overly young, being about thirty, what Fosteyns consider a good age. At thirty a man is young enough to still be considered young, but old enough to be considered capable of good judgment. Thirty is also believed by Fosteyns to be the ideal age for marriage. The king of Fost at this time was no exception to the ordinary Fosteyn, and so when his eldest son was thirty, the king decided that Gwylan ought to get married. Possessed of the practical Fosteyn mind, the king prepared for a feast to which every eligible female in the area should be invited. He reasoned that with all these ladies present in one place, Gwylan would be best able to choose one for his bride. The king was not a tyrannical father, and he would welcome any woman whom his son affected. But marry his son must, and that as soon as possible.

However, Prince Gwylan did not at all like his father's scheme, primarily because he found the attentions of women rather trying. If he would get married, it would be in his own way. Gwylan knew that his primary attraction lay in his position, for he was not handsome. His stature was nothing out of the ordinary, his hair was a dull brown, and his nose was rather large. When dressed in the correct clothes, nobody could distinguish him from a stable-hand. And it was as a stable-hand that he appeared in the stables as Kellen laid herself down to sleep in the morning sunshine.

The real stable-hands took no notice of Gwylan, as they were as discreet as good servants ought to be. But as Gwylan tacked up his grey horse, a young, well-dressed lad bounded into the stables and cried out, "Gwylan! What do you here?"

"I am tacking up Meystrom," explained Gwylan curtly, "and you would do well to be quiet about it."

"But if you're going for a ride, may I not come with?" pleaded the boy.

"Gosfyth, I am not going for a mere ride."

"Oh, I know! You are going to escape the ladies! A famous plan, but Papa will be very angry."

"I shall only be gone for the first night of the feast. Or maybe the first and the second. I cannot stand three days of it, but I know my duty, and shall certainly be in attendance for the third night. And you, my dear brother, are not to say a word about it."

"Take me with you, and I won't!" suggested Gosfyth. His brother looked down on him with amusement.

"Is that blackmail? Coming it a little too strong, Gosfyth. But perhaps I will take you with me, it can do no harm."

"Hooray!" shouted Gosfyth, beginning to dance a jig. Gwylan clapped a hand on his shoulder to halt him.

"But get some more suitable clothes. I shall write a note for father, promising that we shall return in good time to see some of the feast."

So Gwylan and Gosfyth set off that morning, and they traveled all the day, making their camp at night. The next day was gloomy and grey and before long it began to rain.

On the second day of their journey, Kellen and Corcamelyn continued along the Fost Road. They met several other travelers along the way, but most of these were in too much of a hurry to travel along with the pair. Kellen saw no need to hurry; the feast was to last three days after all, and she was very much enjoying her journey. Whenever she saw something that interested her, she stopped to get a closer look at it, and Corcamelyn was always willing to give her his conversation. After passing between many fields, the Fost Road at last began to wend its way through the White Forest that marked the border between Darmel and Fost. The road narrowed and followed the course of a deep ravine. It was then that the rain began to fall, and before long it was pounding hard, and the water in the ravine was rushing with a loud, crashing noise.

Kellen asked Corcamelyn, shouting over the noise of the elements, whether they ought to stop.

"We need not, mistress," the pony whinnied back, "and there is little shelter hereabouts, after all. I can go on if you can. I'm not at all tired, and this is a good road, not very muddy at all. Now, the road at home is in a shocking condition. You wouldn't believe…"

As Corcamelyn plodded on, relating his experiences of muddy roads to her, Kellen smiled and drew her hood more tightly about her face. After another half-hour of the downpour, she spotted a lone horse in the distance, standing a little way off the road, near to the ravine. As they approached, they heard shouting, and perceived that there was a person leaning over the edge of the ravine. Kellen immediately dismounted and ran over to the ravine's edge.

One glance over the edge showed her a young boy, waist deep in the roaring water. One of his arms was extended upwards, clutching the hand of the man leaning over the ravine. Kellen shouted to this man, "Can I help?"

The man jerked his head around and looked at her. He said simply, "A rope, in my saddlebag."

Kellen ran to the lone horse and ripped into the first saddlebag she could reach. There was no rope, so she tore into the second one. Grabbing the coil of rope, she ran back to the ravine and got on her knees beside the man.

"Can you reach down and hold him while I manage the rope?" he shouted.

In answer, Kellen laid herself flat and inched her way closer to the edge. With one hand gripping a tree root, she reached her other arm as far down as she could. It was not far enough. She moved herself even farther towards the edge. As she grabbed the boy's hand, she suddenly realized that she had gone too far, and felt herself slipping. But the man at that instant released the boy's hand and clutched the back of her cloak, and she stopped, as she felt, in mid-air. Still holding her cloak, the man pulled a knife from his belt and whistled to his horse. The grand grey steed obligingly walked over to him, and the man with his one free hand cut through the horse's dangling reins. He then proceeded to tie one end of the leather strip tightly about Kellen's ankle, and ordered his horse to remain still. The horse was happy to do so, having found an excellent patch of grass to explore. Corcamelyn, not to be outdone, walked over and reached his neck down to secure a large portion of Kellen's cloak in his teeth. The man was rather surprised at this, but Kellen appeared to be quite secure. He let go of the cloak.

"You can use both hands, you won't slip," he said to her as he prepared the rope. Kellen obediently stretched down her other hand to the boy.

"Give me your other hand if you can," she said to him. As she remained in her very uncomfortable position, fervently hoping that their wet hands would not slip, the rain continued to pelt all five of the travelers. Prince Gwylan, for he it was, rapidly tied one end of the rope around the nearest tree and brought the other end to where Kellen lay.

"His foot is stuck in a branch," he told her. "I'm going to climb down and try to release it. You keep holding on."

Gwylan wrapped the rope twice about him and let himself down the ravine side. With one hand holding the rope, he plunged beneath the water. Kellen's arms felt numb, and she could tell that the boy's ability to hang on was waning. She held his hands all the tighter. Just when she believed the boy would slip from her grasp, something gave way, and the boy kicked his legs up. He was now dangling from her arms, but she had no strength left to pull him up. Gwylan reemerged and sped quickly up the rope, shouting at Gosfyth to take hold of him. Kellen was able to release the boy, and she pulled at the rope until both man and boy were safely on firm ground.

For a full minute, the three people lay motionless on the ground, breathing heavily, the rain continuing to soak them. Gwylan was the first to recover. He stood and turned to stare at the small figure wrapped in a cloak with ruddy curls plastered to her face and neck. After a moment he pulled her to her feet.

"We had better find a more sheltered place to wait out the rain," he said. Kellen nodded and took a step toward the road, but she tripped over the severed rein tied to her ankle and fell against Corcamelyn. As she did so, her hand grabbed one of the saddlebags and it burst open, one of the beaded slippers flying out and tumbling over into the ravine. She stared at the ravine dumbly, and felt an urge to burst into tears. She controlled herself however, as the man knelt to untie the rein. Gwylan without further ado picked up Kellen and tossed her onto the pony's back, then turned to throw Gosfyth onto Meystrom. He then led the horses back to the road and looked about him for a likely spot.

"There's a small hillock over there with a bit of an overhang," he said, pointing. Without waiting for a reply he took the horses to the hillock and proceeded to place the two young people under the overhang. Kellen felt a wave of relief as the rain ceased to batter her body, and she soon recovered the full use of her senses. As she watched the strange man tie his horse to a tree, she called out, "You needn't tie up my pony, he never strays."

Gwylan came to the hillock and seated himself on the other side of Gosfyth. The boy was shivering with cold, soaked to the bone. Kellen stripped off her serviceable cloak and wrapped it around him. She was rather wet herself, but the cloak was thick and had prevented most of the rain from penetrating. Gosfyth curled up against his brother as Gwylan put an arm about him.

"Don't try to make conversation, my lad, just rest," he ordered, and for once in his life Gosfyth obeyed without protest. Gwylan looked over his brother's head at Kellen.

"Lady, you have my eternal thanks. I fear we would have been at quite a loss without you," he said gravely.

Kellen, who was trying to push back the many strands of wet hair clinging to her face, looked up at him and smiled.

"Oh, it's quite unnecessary to thank me. I've never had so great an adventure, and I must be thankful to both of you for providing me with one."

Gwylan was a bit taken aback at this cheerful remark, and was even more so when Kellen called her pony to come near.

"Come, Corcamelyn, and lie beside me," she called, and the pony walked to the overhang and folded his legs underneath him. He rested his head on Kellen's lap and she began to stroke his ears. Then she spotted the torn saddlebag and sighed. Removing the remaining slipper, she said, "Oh, Corcamelyn, I've lost one of Mother's slippers. I wish I hadn't. Oh well, I'd better secure this one in the other bag." As she began to do so, the pony said in a very low voice, "Mistress, I am sorry. I would have caught it if I could."

Gwylan gasped in astonishment, and Gosfyth started. Both stared at the pony disbelievingly. Kellen laughed.

"Yes, he can talk, isn't it grand? A Talithe did it to him. Corcamelyn, don't be dismayed, it is not at all your fault, but my own. And we still have the dress, so I daresay I can still go to the feast."

Gwylan recovered his composure at this and shot a warning glance at his brother. "You are going to the feast in Fosteln, then, Lady?"

"Oh yes," said Kellen without reserve. "I didn't think I should be able to, and I so longed to, for you must know that I've never been anywhere." And with a little encouragement she told the whole fantastic story to her interested audience. If she had not been so obviously incapable of deceit, Gwylan would have disbelieved her; as it was, he found the tale not half as entrancing as the girl herself. She was surely the most unusual girl he had ever met; and it was something that went beyond her sprite little face, her large hazel eyes, and her tangled auburn curls. She had a total lack of self-consciousness. She was always looking about her for ways to be kind to others, as revealed by her concern for Gosfyth and for her pony. She did not seem to think of herself at all, and told her story as if she had played no great part in it. She never once mentioned a desire to meet the prince of Fost, speaking of her journey to the feast as a trip of pure pleasure. By the time the rain had stopped and the sky had darkened, and Kellen and Gosfyth had fallen asleep, Prince Gwylan was quite sure that he had at last met the woman he desired to wed.

Corcamelyn had wandered over to Meystrom, and both horses slept as they stood, as horses prefer to do. Gosfyth, still wrapped in Kellen's cloak, lay curled in a ball, whereas Kellen lay stretched upon the grass, one arm pillowing her head, her gown stained with mud in many places. The light of a nearly full moon shone down upon them as Gwylan stood and stretched his legs. He removed his own cloak, which had at last dried up somewhat, and laid it over Kellen's form. Then he made his way quietly to the edge of the ravine.

After picking up a long tree branch, he crouched down and looked down into the water. The stream was moving steadily along, and the starlight and moonlight cast dappling shadows on the water's surface. It was some minutes before Gwylan saw what he was looking for, the faint glint of an object caught between a root and the muddy side of the ravine. He let the branch down and carefully prodded at the object. The branch caught onto it, and Gwylan slowly lifted the beaded slipper out of the ravine.

He then looked at it thoughtfully as he wiped away the mud with his handkerchief. It was made of soft leather, dyed a pale beige, and had intricate white and silver beadwork embroidered all about it. It was small in size, and fit rather neatly into one of Meystrom's saddlebags. Having achieved his goal, Gwylan returned to the overhang and lay next to Gosfyth. Soon all were sleeping peacefully.

They awoke to a very bright sun in a clear blue sky. A long sleep had worked wonders for Gosfyth, and he was thoroughly restored to his usual self. By the time Kellen and Gwylan had collected provisions for breakfast from their respective saddlebags, Gosfyth experienced being whacked with Corcamelyn's tail, a narrow escape from being kicked by Meystrom, and falling out of a tree. At each new escapade Kellen giggled, which, Gwylan suspected, was the reason Gosfyth continued to make mischief. But no harm was done besides a tear in the knee of the boy's trousers and a scrape easily attended to. After eating, Kellen asked whither the two men were bound.

"Oh, to Fosteln, as you are," said Gwylan, casting another one of his meaning glances at his brother. Kellen's brow creased at this.

"But you must have been going in the opposite direction, or I would have met you on the road," she pointed out.

"We wander here and there, seeking our fortune, and do not always travel by roads," said Gwylan vaguely. "Fosteln seems a good enough destination and I really don't think you should travel alone."

"How silly!" exclaimed Kellen, diverted as much by the thought that anybody could possibly care how she traveled as by the remark itself. "As if Corcamelyn would not protect me from any danger. In any case, I seem to have kept out of trouble far better than the two of you have, wanderers though you are."

Gosfyth grinned charmingly at this. "My brother Gwy-Gwyfanyth always cares more about safety when he is not the one concerned."

"It would be better for you, _Gosneyn_, if you had concerned yourself with safety," said Gwylan dryly. "Only your luck has saved you from catching a severe cold, I daresay, and had not this lady happened upon us when she did, you would have suffered much worse. I hope the next time you contemplate walking along the edge of a ravine in the middle of a rainstorm you will think the better of it."

Kellen was very much glad of the added company, for she found the brothers quite the nicest people she had met in years. As they traveled along, she upon her pony and Gwyfanyth upon his horse with Gosneyn alternately riding behind him or running along the road, she tried to learn more of them. While Gwyfanyth's answers to her questions were very general, young Gosneyn seemed eager to tell her of all their many adventures. That these adventures were almost every one of them entirely fabricated from the boy's own head she did not know.

At midday they stopped for refreshment, just on the edge of the woods. As she chewed a piece of bread, Kellen stared thoughtfully at nothing in particular. Gwylan asked her if something was the matter. She shook herself slightly and smiled at him, a dimple peeping at each corner of her mouth.

"Oh, I was just thinking about my slipper," she said lightly. "I can't very well go about in one slipper, or wear boots to the feast, now, can I? I suppose I shall have to go barefoot, and hope that nobody notices. I daresay nobody will, for why should anyone be looking particularly at me?"

"Ah, but do you not wish to capture the admiration of the Prince? That is what the feast is for, you know," returned Gwylan.

"Poor man, I do feel most sincerely for him," said Kellen with a degree of sympathy that took Gwylan aback. "It is not at all pleasant to have people pay attention to one for one's position, I think. Not that I really know. But after all, nobody can force the prince to marry if he does not wish to. And," she continued, a thought occurring to her, "If he had found himself a wife, he would not have people trying to find one for him!"

"Finding a wife is not as easy as it sounds, lady," said Gwylan, so intently looking at her that she blushed slightly. "But I do hope you have a pleasant time at the feast, and have a court of men at your feet."

"I should not like that at all," said Kellen seriously, recovering her composure. "Why would anyone want a court? Only one matters, you know." Gosfyth then broke in on the conversation by begging Kellen to let him ride Corcamelyn. He was quite entranced by the talking pony, and wished to have leisure to ask him all manner of questions as to what it felt like to be a horse. Kellen agreed, and for the rest of the journey rode on Meystrom behind Gwylan.

They reached Fosteln before sundown. Kellen stared at the clusters of buildings as Gwylan dismounted. She had never seen so many houses and shops and people in one place before. The streets were crowded with carts and horses, and in the distance, she could see the Great Hall of Fost, on a slight rise above the rest of the city.

"Let me help you down, lady," said Gwylan, reaching up his arms to her. When he set her on the ground, he kept his hands on her waist and looked down into her eyes.

"We must part now," he said, "and you should find yourself lodging. Most will be filled up because of the feast. I recommend you go to the White Mare; I have friends there, and if you say you were sent by Lan to the innkeeper, he will manage to find a room for you."

"Thank you," Kellen managed to say. "I was so glad of your company. Will we- do you suppose we shall see each other again?"

"My lady, I am sure of it," said Gwylan, releasing her and leading her to her pony.

The boy had been loath to part from his new friends, but a look from his elder brother had settled the matter. Kellen and Corcamelyn watched them depart into the bustle of the city before wading into it themselves. Kellen inquired as to the whereabouts of the White Mare, and after another half hour, she was telling the innkeeper that Lan had sent her. The innkeeper seemed surprised by this, but he was a discreet man, and asked her no further questions. He led her to her room and told her that one of the boys would see to her pony. At this Kellen demurred, saying she would look after him herself. As she removed Corcamelyn's saddle and rubbed him down, she whispered into his ear, "I am sorry, I shall have to leave you here for awhile. But you shall have everything of the best."

Corcamelyn whinnied in reply, not speaking in the presence of the stable boys. When Kellen left, he settled down to munch on some of the excellent hay provided for him, thinking that the White Mare certainly was a good establishment at least as far as horses were concerned.

In her chamber, Kellen bathed and dressed, and fixed her hair as best she could. The scent from the Talithe's oil still remained, and she wondered if it would ever wash away. As she cavorted in front of the mirror, she was surprised to find that she looked rather pretty. Her mother's gown of ivory silk was trimmed with lace at the neck. Beads were embroidered onto the front of the bodice. The hem just covered her bare feet.

Kellen went out of her room into the hall, and asked the innkeeper whether it would be best to ride or walk. With studied uninterest he told her that it was but a short walk, and as the time was getting on, the royal stables would most likely be already full. Kellen thanked him and walked out the front door. The innkeeper rushed to the window and peered out, seeing the smallest bit of bare feet. He shook his head, wondering what in the world His Highness was about.

A barefoot walk down cobbled streets meant nothing to Kellen, whose soles were tough and unfeeling from years of not wearing shoes at all. When she came to the front gate of the palace, she was careful to make sure the guards could not see her feet. The guards did not inquire at all as to her identity, knowing that the king desired any lady under the sun to make an appearance. So Kellen walked in from the dusky outside world and into a royal fairy land she had only dreamed of.

The banqueting hall was enormous, and it led into an even larger ballroom. Everything was of the finest, tapestries, flowers, and ribbons decorated the walls, and rich carpets lay on the floors. But to Kellen the most astonishing sight was the sheer number of people, and their elaborate, rich dress. There were hundreds at the very least, perhaps thousands, in bright colors and rich fabrics. Her mother's gown, which she had thought so grand, paled in comparison to some of the gowns she saw bedecking gorgeous ladies who laughed and danced with the greatest of ease.

Kellen was at a loss as to what to do. She knew no one, except for Maryeane and her stepsisters, and had no desire to see them. She did not think they would recognize her at a distance; they were so unused to seeing her clean, but up close they would be able to discern her features. Kellen drifted towards a table piled high with food, food that looked far too beautiful to eat. She tentatively took a small cake and raised it to her lips. Biting into it, she felt soft, cool cream bursting in her mouth, and her eyes widened. Quickly downing it, she reached for another and another. Then she saw a great lady staring at her, and she rapidly walked as far away as she could.

She found herself in the ballroom, near to the dance floor, where dozens of couples were whirling gracefully about. She stood silently amidst a great many others, watching the dancing intently. But before the dance had ended, a young gangly man with large ears accosted her and asked her to dance. She had taken her hand before she knew what was happening, and was whisked on to the floor.

Kellen did not really know how to dance, to dance properly, that is. Many times she had crept out of the house after dark to dance alone in the moonlight, but none but the moths and the old owl that lived in the tree by the barn had ever seen her. Kellen was sure she would bring attention to herself by her ignorance, but it seemed that the young man knew how to dance properly as little as she did. So they stepped on each other's toes and bumped into each other, until Kellen's quick mind had picked up the steps and she at least began to manage better. She did not know that someone in the crowd of people was keeping his eyes closely on her feet.

Prince Gwylan had attired himself in a very simple costume, one that in no way signaled his royal identity. In addition, he greatly annoyed his father by lurking in corners rather than becoming the center attraction. At the moment, nobody was paying any heed to the ordinary man leaning against the wall across from the dance floor. He stood there for some time; in fact, he had stood there since the night's revelry had begun. His eyes were ever intently at the feet of the dancers. At last he was rewarded by catching glimpses of two small and certainly bare feet.

When the dance was done, Kellen was surprised to be almost immediately be approached by another man, who asked her to dance. Looking up, she was startled to see her traveling companion, dressed in much better clothes than those she had last seen him in.

"Gwyfanyth!" she exclaimed, "Whatever are you doing here?"

"The same as you," he replied, "Attending the feast." He took one of her hands in his and led her to a place in the dance. She went along willingly.

"But were you invited?" she asked, her eyes wide. He smiled down at her.

"Were you?" he returned.

"Yes! I mean, all the ladies in the land were invited! But I did not know that all the men were."

"Well, no matter. I am here, invited or no, expressly to dance with you."

She blushed very rosily at this, but did not cast down her eyes. The music struck up, and soon she found herself whirling about in his arms, perfectly in step with him. She had never heard the dance before, and had no notion why she was not tripping all over his feet. It was like one of the stories she concocted in her head as she scrubbed the floors and picked the potatoes, a dream come true. For several minutes she saw only him and heard only the strains of the music. But reality could not be suspended forever.

She noticed that people were staring openly at her and her partner, and that whispers were being exchanged all about the room. She gave Gwyfanyth a puzzled look, and saw that his expression was one of annoyance.

"Why is everyone looking at us?" she whispered to him. "Do you think it is my bare feet?"

He bent as if to answer, but at that moment the dance ended, and a gorgeously attired young lady came up to him, saying,

"Gwylan, there you are! Whatever are you about? Father has been asking for you this age! He wants you to dance with some rich merchant's daughter from somewhere or other. You must come at once!"

Gwylan looked daggers at his half-sister, the Princess Mylla, and the implication of these words slowly dawned upon Kellen. She gasped and stepped back, a mixture of astonishment, embarrassment, and hurt coming over her face.

"You-oh!" was all she said before she turned and ran from the room. All heads turned to look after her, but none impeded her way. Before Gwylan realized what had happened, she was running through the streets to the White Mare.

"Mylla, you have not any idea-" he began to shout at the princess. Seeing her stricken and confused face, he stopped, and replaced the angry words with, "Never mind, Mylla. Give my pardon to the rich merchant's daughter from somewhere, and tell Father I'm sorry that I had to leave his party." Then he ran out of the ballroom himself.

When he reached the White Mare, the girl and her pony had already left. He sat in the taproom, debating with himself as to the best course to pursue. He could go after her, of course. Meystrom could catch up with Corcamelyn in no time at all. But should he? Kellen had been much shocked to learn his identity, and perhaps hurt by his deception. He did not think it wise to go after her when her nerves must be in such a jumble. It would not be fair. But if he waited, restrained himself, would he ever find her again? He did not know where in the Norhamlet she lived, nor even her surname. He could not risk losing her.

He walked slowly back to the palace and climbed up a back staircase to his bedchamber. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a beaded slipper and looked at it thoughtfully.

The king of Fost was in no good humor when his eldest son came to see him the next morning. Sitting in one of the palace's spacious apartments with his wife and daughters, he received Prince Gwylan very ungraciously.

"Well, boy, what have you to say for yourself?" he barked as Gwylan entered. "Upon my word! Missing the first two days of a feast held in your honor, and then running out on the final night! Fine behavior for a prince!"

"It was unpardonable in me, Father," said Gwylan cheerfully. "But I do hope you will forgive me when I tell you that I have decided to take your advice, and intend to marry shortly."

"What?" shouted the king.

"Oh, how splendid, Gwylan!" cried Princess Golwynna.

"Who is she, Gwylan?" asked Princess Helga.

"Gwylan, the girl last night?" eagerly inquired Princess Mylla.

Gwylan smiled and nodded.

"What?" shouted the king a second time.

"My dear!" the queen said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "Do tell us, Gwylan."

"I intend to marry the girl who ran away last night," stated Gwylan, and proceeded to tell his story. His sisters thought it terribly romantic, and his stepmother agreed, though she was privately a trifle shaken to hear of her young son's near brush with disaster. Of course, her heart warmed to Kellen all the more because of it. The king, when Gwylan's tale was told, burst forth with,

"But who is she?"

"That is the trouble, Father," replied the prince, "I don't precisely know. But I do know she lives in the Norhamlet with her stepmother and sisters, who treat her ill. And I have this." He pulled out the slipper. "It is hers, and only she has the other. I ask that I may have a royal guard, that I may travel throughout the Norhamlet, stopping in every house to see if any lady there can claim this slipper."

"But that could take days! Weeks!" objected the king.

"No matter. I will not rest until I find her."

"Very well," the king sighed, "you may have a guard." He was not sure whether he should be outraged at such a nonsensical scheme or glad that his son was finally to marry. Just then Gosfyth bounced into the room. Demanding to know what was happening, he soon determined that he must join his brother on his journey.

"If it weren't for me, Gwylan might never have met her," he reasoned, "Or they might have just passed each other on the road. You must take me, Gwylan, you owe it to me!"

Nobody in the room saw any sense in this remark, and the king said that Gosfyth should keep to his studies in his brother's absence. Gosfyth sulkily left the room, and Gwylan soon left also to prepare for the journey.

As Kellen rode south, she managed to calm herself. The steady rhythm of Corcamelyn's trot soon brought her quickly beating pulse under control. She did not in the least fear pursuit, for she could not perceive why a prince should run after her.

She told the tale to Corcamelyn, who listened attentively but made no answer, but, "Very strange, indeed." She heartily agreed with him, and by the time they made their first stop to rest, she was convinced that Prince Gwylan had merely been amusing himself, and hadn't been at all trying to win her heart. The fact that he had made no difference to the situation, except perhaps by giving her a tinge of heartache whenever she thought of him. After all, she reasoned with herself, she had wanted adventure, and she had had it. She had no right to complain of anything, for she had been granted a lovely journey, albeit somewhat wet, and had briefly been the guest at a palace.

After all their traveling, when the house was in sight, Corcamelyn sighed, and said, "Mistress, I will soon lose my speech. But do not forget that I was once a talking horse."

"Dear Corcamelyn!" said Kellen, dismounting and hugging the pony's neck. "I shall never call you old Brownie again. You are truly a noble horse, and have been my greatest friend."

"And you have been mine," said Corcamelyn; and they were the last words he ever spoke, for the journey was ended.

Kellen made sure that Corcamelyn was well stabled before she went about her own tasks. Maryeane must never suspect that she had gone. Kellen carefully put the gown back in its hiding place, smiling ruefully at the single beaded slipper that she wrapped with it. She wished she had not lost one of Mother's things. Then Kellen changed back into her own old gown, wrapped her stained kerchief around her head, and replaced the clothes she had borrowed from Anaden, checking them carefully for stains. She proceeded to do all the chores that had been neglected in her absence, and soon was almost as dirty as she had been before the Talithe came.

Maryeane and her daughters came home the next day. They were full of the splendor of the feast, and Anaden and Melnde bragged of the prince's attentions to them, each trying to outdo the other. Kellen wondered if they really had danced with Prince Gwylan after her flight. Life went back to usual; before the day was out, Kellen was beaten for a stain on the carpet.

Gwylan rode out from Fosteln with a guard of four men, each attired in the regalia of Fost, green coats and black trousers. He himself was clothed in similar garb, the difference being a thin circlet of gold resting on his brow.

They had only journeyed half a day, when they saw a rider bearing down behind them at a distance. They stopped, hands on sword hilts, but relaxed when a young boy drew his horse up and grinned.

"Gosfyth!" exclaimed Gwylan, "I ought to have known!"

"I snuck out," explained Gosfyth gleefully, "and I am going with you, whatever anyone says."

"I could send you back home with a guard this instant," threatened Gwylan, but in truth he was glad to have the boy along. Gosfyth had sharp eyes and was the only one besides himself who had observed Kellen closely.

"Oh, you wouldn't be such a spoilsport, would your?"

He wouldn't. Gosfyth was taken along, and one of the guards sent back to Fosteln with a message assuring the king and queen of the safety of their youngest son. But as a week passed in visiting the houses of the Norhamlet and inquiring about the slipper, and having it tried on various ladies, and nothing availing, Gosfyth grew quickly bored. Kellen appeared to be a rather common name in Darmel, so asking after a girl of that name brought no useful information.

But at last they came to the house of Gardal Minder gar Predal. As Gwylan and the guards were graciously welcomed into the house by Maryeane and her daughters, Gosfyth loitered in the yard. Gossip runs like wildfire, and the ladies of the house already knew the purpose of the prince's visit. Anaden and Melnde were each determined to do their best.

"Oh, my slipper!" exclaimed Anaden, when the beaded slipper was displayed on a silk pillow. She reached for it, laughing, "How good of you to return it to me!" She batted her eyelashes at Gwylan.

"You may try it on," was all he said. Anaden was a beautiful girl, but she was certainly not Kellen. Anaden sat and gracefully placed the slipper upon her foot. It was a good inch too short, but Anaden made sure that the hem of her gown covered her bare heel. She smiled up at the prince. He shook his head.

"I beg your pardon, mistress, but I fear the slipper cannot be yours. It is too small." He knelt and took the slipper from her foot. Before Anaden could say anything, Melnde jumped in with,

"Of course it's too short, for it isn't hers! It's mine!" Grabbing the slipper from Gwylan, she managed to stuff all of her foot into it. It was a tight squeeze, but it did fit.

"Very well, mistress," said Gwylan politely, "But have you the other slipper?"

Melnde was attempting to explain how she had lost the slipper, with corroboration from her mother and glares from her sister, when Gosfyth came running into the room.

"She's here!" he shouted to his brother.

"Here?" Gwylan exclaimed.

"Yes! Or at least, her pony is! I mean, I saw him! The pony!"

"Explain yourself clearly, Gosfyth," commanded Gwylan sternly, but there was a gleam of hope in his eyes. Gosfyth caught his breath and steadied himself.

"I was outside, and thought I would look in at the stable. So I peeked in the door and saw a girl grooming a pony. Her back was to me, but the pony was facing me, and he winked at me, Gwylan! I know it was Corcamelyn!"

"I would like to see your serving girl," said the prince to his hostess, and left the house without waiting for a word. Gosfyth led the way, and the brothers were followed by the guards and the three ladies. Old Dimgar, chopping firewood in the yard, stared for a moment before shrugging and returning to his work.

The group seemed to fill the stable. Kellen jumped, looked, and turned away. Gwylan stared at her for some moments.

"Why it's only Cinders!" exclaimed Melnde. "The slipper couldn't be hers."

"She never wears anything on her feet; they are calloused through and through," remarked Anaden.

"I assure you, your Highness, Cinders is only our serving girl, and couldn't possibly have been anywhere near Fosteln," said Maryeane.

Gwylan paid no attention to them, but walked to Kellen, who was gripping a post and purposely keeping her head bent down.

"Girl," he said to her, holding the slipper in front of her. "I was wondering if this might be your slipper."

Startled, Kellen raised her eyes to the slipper, and Gwylan saw, through the streaks of dirt, the bright eyes and the freckled nose.

"Is this yours?" he asked gently. She slowly looked up at him, saw his reassuring smile, and nodded, somewhat confused.

"Have you the other?" She nodded again, and her stepsisters gasped.

"She is lying, your Highness," said Maryeane, "If she has any such slipper, you may depend upon it, she stole it from one of my daughters. Cinders," she added, addressing Kellen, "If you have done such a thing, you will get a sound beating for it, much worse than the one you earned last week!"

Gwylan saw the girl wince, and quickly said, "Please, fetch it for me, and I promise no harm will come to you." Kellen hesitated for a moment, and then turned to the tack room, where she removed the panel and took out the slipper. She carefully unwrapped it and walked back to where Gwylan stood. Her stepmother and sisters stared at the removed panel in astonishment and anger.

Kellen gave the slipper to Gwylan and turned her face once more to the ground. The prince beckoned the guard who held the silk pillow, and placed both slippers upon it. Then Gwylan lifted Kellen off the ground and seated her on the edge of one side of Corcamelyn's stall. Kellen was unable to stifle a giggle as she glanced at Maryeane's face.

"Mistress Maryeane, might one of your daughters fetch me a basin of water and a towel?" the prince asked in a tone that bespoke authority. Mechanically, Maryeane ordered Anaden to do so. Anaden flounced off in a huff, but fulfilled her orders, returning with water and towel.

Gwylan thanked her and dipped the towel into the water. Then he carefully washed all the dirt off of Kellen's feet. She stared at him in wonder as he did so, and when he kissed each foot before sliding the slippers onto them, she blushed furiously. The slippers fit perfectly.

"You are all witnesses that I, Gwylan, take this woman, Kellen, to be my wife in this place and at this time, and that I shall serve her all of my days," he said then. He looked expectantly up at Kellen, silently asking her a question with his eyes. Kellen, throwing all fears of Maryeane to the winds, smiled and answered.

"And you are all witnesses that I, Kellen, take this man, Gwylan, to be my husband in this place and at this time, and that I shall serve him all of my days."

And so, in the custom of that land, Kellen and the prince were wed. Gosfyth shouted with joy and the ladies of the house seethed with rage. But they could say nothing, for the knot had been truly tied. Gwylan carried Kellen from the stable, ordering one of his guards to remove the gown from the hollow in the tack room.

"But what about Corcamelyn?" asked Kellen in a whisper that tickled her husband's ear. He lowered his wife to her feet, and turned to Maryeane.

"I would like to buy your pony. How much for him?" he asked.

Maryeane was greatly disappointed. She had lost her chance for the betterment of her own daughters and the free labor of a servant. But she was not going to lose everything.

With a careless shrug, Gwylan paid her the exorbitant price she asked for the pony, and led his wide-eyed wife away. Gosfyth fetched Corcamelyn and rode him out into the yard. The prince threw Kellen up into Meystrom's saddle and mounted behind her, and they all rode away north.

And so the prince brought his bride to Fosteln, where, after a bath and a change of clothing, she was presented to the king and queen. Such a charming girl could not fail to win the hearts of such good people, and Princess Kellen soon became the beloved wife, daughter, and sister that she was meant to be. It is said that there was never a sweeter queen than Queen Kellen, and it is also said that no horse of the east has ever lived so long as the noble Corcamelyn.


End file.
